


Adrenaline Rush

by kradlethief



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kradlethief/pseuds/kradlethief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Speechless," he went on, now fixated on her lips. "You're making this too easy, Rose."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adrenaline Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Adrenaline Rush  
> Summary: "Speechless," he went on, now fixated on her lips. "You're making this too easy, Rose."  
> Rating: M  
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters © JK Rowling  
> Author’s Note: So I actually wrote this eons ago, and it was originally only rated T, but I revisited it recently and was inspired to, um . . . step things up a bit! Hope you enjoy.

_  
_

_Never too soon_

_Oh, reckless abandon_

_Like no one's watching you_

_A moment_

_A love_

_A dream_

_Aloud_

_A kiss_

_A cry_

_Our rights_

_Our wrongs_

"Sweet Disposition" – The Temper Trap

**_ Adrenaline Rush _ **

 

Rose liked the Scamander twins. She really, really did. Lorcan and Lysander were sweet boys who would never wish harm on another living soul, and they were obviously very taken with the Weasley girl. They had been infatuated with her since they were very young, but the realization that Rose was graduating this year seemed to have sent them into a panic. Now they were scrambling to spend as much time with her as possible before her inevitable departure from their everyday lives.

They liked her  _so_  much, in fact, that that they had a habit of, well . . . stalking her, basically. First, they would spot her distinctive copper hair from a distance. Then their identical blue eyes would light up, and they would rush after her like little blond greyhounds chasing the mechanical rabbit at the tracks. Upon catching up to her, they would insist on walking her to her next class, or the library, or the Quidditch pitch, or the Ravenclaw common room, or Hogsmeade, or any other place she could possibly conceive of – Siberia being a particularly tempting option. They would offer to carry her books, compliment her lovely appearance, comment on the weather, and ask her if she had seen the latest edition of the _Quibbler_. Should she be so unwise as to confess that no, she had not, they would then launch into an exhausting review of its main articles, speaking alternately so that one of them would have a chance to catch his breath.

Everyone else thought it was cute. On the surface, Rose could only grit her teeth and smile, reminding herself that her family and the Scamanders were to be lifelong friends. Inside, however, she had to constantly fight the urge to look over her shoulder, and jumped at the sound of people calling her name. She had to plan different routes to her classes every day to avoid running into the boys, who by now had her timetable memorized with almost alarming accuracy. She had even resorted to hiding under tables or behind suits of armour in the corridor to avoid them – and no, she was not all that proud of it. But as flattering as their attention was, Rose rather liked her privacy and independence, and considered these tactics as justifiable means to an end. Namely, to have at least _one_  afternoon of peace and solitude, without having to worry about whether or not she has been spotted.

The day had started off promising enough, with the twins distracted by setting up decorations for the upcoming spring ball. Rose had seen them busily hanging banners and garlands throughout the main hall, and took the opportunity to spend a nice, undisturbed hour reading in the Potions dungeons before supper. The library was too obvious, of course. The twins had learned long ago to look for her there first, and she was constantly rotating alternate study locations.

That hour somehow, miraculously, turned into four, and before Rose knew it, curfew was upon her. Not only had she missed supper, she was also a considerable distance away from the Head dormitories – her one and only safe haven, not to mention the precise place she ought to have been at this time of night. Her parents used to tell her horror stories about Filch, the old groundskeeper who passed on a number of years ago.  _Ms._ Bleaker was not nearly as sour as her predecessor, but nor was she fond of herding wayward students back to their dorms in the late hours; particularly Head Girls who are supposed to know better.

 _This is so undignified_ , Rose thought grimly as she tiptoed up the stairs leading out of the dungeons. It was much cooler down here, especially at night, and she was rather grateful that she had opted for her clingy blue jumper and jeans rather than her uniform. She jumped at the smallest noises, flinched at every blur of movement out the corner of her eye. It was difficult not to assume that, were she in a bad Muggle horror film, she was likely to get slashed to pieces by a knife-wielding lunatic hiding in one of the many, many shadows surrounding her.

Why, why,  _why_  had she chosen to study in the castle's dungeon? Why couldn't she have gone to the Charms classroom? It was so much closer to her dorm, and the journey would not have had to include passing through long, dark, eerily silent hallways. It was probably a lot drier and smelled better too. In fact, she should probably just go ahead and scratch "Potions room" off her list of possible study areas and –

The sound of another's footsteps stopped her dead in her tracks and sent her pulse racing into overdrive. She then instinctively moved to hug the wall and strained her ears to pinpoint the other's location. The flagstones sent echoes bouncing mutely in every direction, but Rose could tell that it wasn't Ms. Bleaker's noisy, laboured shuffle approaching. No, these steps were quiet and quick, and alarmingly close.

She hugged her books close and backed into the available shadows, making herself as flat against the wall as possible. Whoever it was, the footsteps were drawing nearer; the sound of bare flesh plodding on the stone floor got louder and louder.

 _Maybe it’s a sleepwalker,_ Rose frantically theorized. _They could just walk right on by and not even know I’m here!_

But she was too panicked to allow herself much hope. She caught a reflection in the window across from her, and realized with a sickened jolt that he or she, awake or otherwise, was literally just around the corner a mere five feet to her left.

She promptly stopped breathing and screwed her eyes shut.  _Oh bugger._

The footsteps came to an abrupt halt. "Weasley?"

A man's voice – well, a young man's voice. Not a teacher then. And definitely not a sleepwalker.

Rose carefully squinted one eye open to find a pale, decidedly familiar face staring back at her.

Why Scorpius Malfoy was out at this hour utterly escaped her. If any of the ridiculous rumours surrounding him were true, however, either he was on his way back from a secret Death Eaters meeting, or he had just been shagging some girl up in the Astronomy Tower.

The air left Rose's lungs in a nearly audible  _whoosh_. "Malfoy," she breathed. "Bloody hell, I can't feel my legs."

He stepped into an oblique shaft of moonlight, casting a glow on the underside of his features. Grey eyes flashed with clinical amusement. "Didn't mean to startle you,” he said, without a hint of sheepishness or remorse. “What brings you out past curfew?"

Rose opened her mouth to reply, and then stopped.  _His hair is so long,_  she thought vacantly. Which was ridiculous. She had always known his hair was long; he just usually wore it tied back in an intentionally I-don’t-care unkempt ponytail.

But now the white gold strands swung low to frame his face, ending just below the jaw line, and it was almost absurd how different he looked.

Rose swallowed and tried again. "I was studying, and lost track of time."

His eyebrows arched up a little. "The library is on the other side of the castle," he pointed out.

"I was in the Potions room." A defensive note crept into her tone, as if to add  _I know perfectly well where the library is, there are plenty of other places to read, you know._

Understanding dawned in his expression. He smirked and folded his arms over his chest, and Rose could not help but notice that he was not the same scrawny little waif she had first laid eyes on at the train station six years ago.

"Ah," he said knowingly, "avoiding the Scamanders, are we?"

The twins' fixation with her was no secret, by any means, but Rose was still somewhat taken aback that he, Scorpius Malfoy, would have even a passing awareness of it. He did not seem the type to pay attention to something so . . . frivolous.

She shrugged a little. "I – well, I guess it looks a bit silly, but –"

"Not at all," he cut in swiftly, leaning his shoulder into the wall. "I'd probably do the same in your position. Can't stand clingy types myself. Don't know how you put up with it so well, really."

Despite herself, she didn't particularly care for his dismissive tone. Lorcan and Lysander were almost family at the end of the day. "They're just a little enthusiastic," she countered. "I don't mind so very much."

His smirk grew and went a little bit crooked. "Just enough to risk detention for wandering around after hours."

"Well, what are  _you_  doing out here?" she retorted, somewhat crossly. The Slytherin prefect was dressed casually, like herself, and did not have any books or other belongings with him. It occurred to Rose that she had hardly ever seen him in anything other than his Hogwarts robes before now, and was surprised at his informal, laid-back Muggle look. Barefoot, with a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a black undershirt that seemed completely out of his character.

Malfoy gave a lazy half shrug. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd go to the Owlery and visit Ajax. He hasn't had much to do lately, and he gets lonely."

Rose had a hard time envisioning the Malfoys' famously irritable great horned owl as 'lonely', but she supposed she would have to take his word for it.

He gave a short laugh then, taking her by surprise. "I guess I'm a night owl myself,” he mused.

She blinked at him, and found herself grinning unexpectedly. "Wow. Was that a pun?"

"Yes, the Malfoy sense of humour does exist," he drawled. "Try not to die of shock."

"No, I didn't mean that," she said hastily. "I just expected something a little more . . . I don't know, refined from you, that's all. Puns are so  _pedestrian_."

He gave her a quizzical sort of look. "Refined?"

"Well, yeah. You just seem so . . ." She trailed off uncomfortably under his stare. "That is, you don't strike me as the type to laugh at, like, farts or dirty jokes, or that kind of thing."

"Why, do you?"

Her smile became somewhat rueful. “Sometimes.” With a cousin like James, it would be impossible not to, at least from time to time.

"Well. Even so, you seem pretty ‘refined’ yourself."

His eyes dropped slowly to take her in from head to toe, and then sidled back up to meet hers. Embarrassment flooded to her cheeks, though in the dark it would have been impossible to tell.

"Ha," she spluttered, "refined. Me. That's rich. I can't even stand  _The New Yorker_." She paused, having absolutely no idea where that thought even came from or why she felt compelled to put it into words.

"Oh please," he snorted. "The  _New Yorkers_  can't stand  _The New Yorker._  That doesn't exactly count."

Her lips twitched mutinously. "I didn't know you were familiar with any Muggle magazines."

He tilted his head to the side a little. "Why would you? I don't think we've exchanged so much as three words to each other until now."

She winced. "Well, ah, I just assumed that –"

"What? That a Malfoy can't take an interest in works other than Death Eater manifestos?"

"No!" Rose protested. "Merlin no, that's not it at all."

Rolling his eyes, he held up a hand to stop her. "Relax," he intoned, "I was only joking. Again. Sense of humour, remember?"

"I – oh." She stopped and blinked at him for a moment, before she allowed a wry smile of her own to slip out. "Still, I bet you've read some pretty good manifestos in your time, yeah?"

He gave a somewhat bored shrug, his face perfectly serious. "Sure, every now and then a good one comes along. For the most part, though, it's all pretty formulaic.  _Enslave all Muggles_ this, _Mudbloods are inferior scum_  that. Gets old after a while."

"Awful," she sighed. "No imagination whatsoever these days."

"Too true, too true. On the plus side, though," he added, a touch more brightly, "all Death Eater initiates get a free 'I heart Voldie' t-shirt. It's actually quite fetching, if you don’t mind the Dark Lord’s cartoon face plastered on the front."

"Does it come in pink?"

"Four shades."

They managed to keep it together for a full five seconds, before simultaneously bursting with laughter.

"I'll," Rose gasped, bent double at the waist with the sheer effort summoning her voice, "I'll take mine . . . in magenta . . ."

Scorpius slumped against the wall, arms folded over his middle, shaking with silent mirth. It took him a moment to catch his breath, before he managed to choke, "Sorry, my granddad got the last one."

Which then, of course, led to them taking even longer to quiet themselves again.

It wasn't until she'd wiped the last of her tears away that Rose realized it was sad, in a way, to be joking about this sort of thing. The Second War had changed the whole wizarding world, to be sure, but there were some lingering prejudices that would likely persist for at least a few more generations. Scorpius had dealt with his fair share of mistrust and outright hatred all throughout his enrollment at Hogwarts, and even beforehand. It was impossible to ignore some of the things people said about the Malfoys, often to their very faces, despite the considerable body of work his father had done repair the tarnished family name. Scorpius had always handled it rather coolly, Rose recalled, but the fact that he could laugh about it, let alone make jokes, was not something she would have anticipated. She was forced, at that moment, to recognize that she could never handle something like that with such grace.

"Well," Scorpius sighed gustily, having finally regained his composure, "now that I've managed to shame my predecessors even more than usual, let me just say that this has all been a very  _refined_ evening, thanks to you."

She made a face. "You're never letting that go, are you."

And just like that, his expression was perfectly sincere again. "How could I? It's the nicest thing a Weasley has ever said to me." He paused and watched her fleeting reaction for a moment, before continuing with, "And you can laugh at yourself all you want, but you  _are_  different from the others."

"What do you mean?" she asked, brows furrowing together.

"Forgive me," he went on, in that same unapologetic tone as before, "but I doubt you delight in the brilliant repartee of James  _yo' mama_  Potter nearly as much as the rest of your lot."

Her eyes narrowed, nowhere near amusement anymore. "Are you saying my family is stupid?"

"No," he replied in all seriousness, shaking his head. "Just that you're smarter." The answering look on her face made him chuckle again. "My, you're easy to fluster, aren't you?"

The strange hint of fondness in his voice nearly distracted her from the fact that he was now openly making fun of her loved ones, instead of implicitly. She scowled at him. "As if you know the slightest thing about me or my family!" she retorted. "Like you so kindly pointed out, we've never said three words to each other before tonight, and I am  _not_  so 'easy to fluster', for your –"

Her jaw immediately snapped shut when he managed to cross the mild gap separating them in the blink of an eye, suddenly standing very, very close to her.

Rose took an involuntary step backwards, only to jostle a conveniently placed granite bust of Hermietta the Uncouth – a witch from the medieval age who, despite her title, was known for being remarkably judicial. The pedestal rocked back from the impact, and the statue teetered precariously near the edge. Before Rose could even  _think_  of drawing breath, Scorpius’ arm lashed out past her and steadied it. Holding fast to the top of Hermietta's head, he smirked down at the trapped Weasley, who could only gape wordlessly back at him. Cornered between him, the statue and the wall, she had never felt more defenseless in her life.

"Really?" he murmured, his voice dropping dangerously low. She tried not to shiver as his breath washed down her collarbone. "Because you look rather flustered to me."

Of course Rose knew, on various levels, that this was the stuff of bad teen romance. She was also keenly aware that in most situations, this type of behaviour could qualify even as a mild form of sexual harassment.

It was just that, truthfully, she had never had a boy  _look_  at her this way, like he could either kiss her or eat her on the spot. She had been kissed before, and quite soundly too, but nothing had ever given her a rush like the frank, shameless intrigue in his eyes. They roamed the planes of her face with a sort of speculative wonder, as though trying to decide which area to start on first – where to kiss, where to bite, she couldn't possibly be sure at this point. She just had the faint, daring notion that she might rather enjoy both.

"Speechless," he went on, now fixated on her lips. "You're making this too easy, Rose."

 _He said my name_ , she thought light-headedly.  _Scorpius Scorpius Scorpius._  Scorpius had a beautiful mouth, she decided _._

"Someone there?"

Ms. Bleaker's raspy voice carried down the hall like an intruding magpie, snapping both students out of their . . . whatever it was.

Rose jumped, causing her books to shift and then slip from her limp grasp. Scorpius lunged down and caught the awkward bundle mere inches before it scattered on the floor. For a split second, she found herself wondering why he had never bothered to try out as a Seeker, with reflexes like that.

Instead of returning her books, he angled around her and crammed them behind Hermietta's pedestal. "Take off your shoes," he hissed.

"What?"

He shot her an aggravated look before grabbing her by the back of the knee, forcefully raising her foot. She gasped and latched onto his shoulder as he wrenched off her new white trainer, then the other.

"What the hell are you –"

"Stealth purposes," he replied brusquely, releasing her to tuck the shoes behind the statue along with her books. "Trust me."

She motioned wildly around, struggling to keep her voice down. "I can't just leave my things –"

"Rose," he whispered as he straightened, " _trust_  me."

"And  _stop_  bloody interrupting –"

Ms. Bleaker's lantern light could be seen bobbing at the far end of the corridor. "I en't in the mood for games, you 'ear me? Come on out now!"

Rose whirled around, unprepared for how close the groundskeeper's voice was, but forgot everything when Scorpius' hand slipped into hers.

"Run," he breathed into her ear, the dizzying nearness of his face almost paralyzing her. She stumbled blindly at his side, wordlessly complying with the tug of his hand for lack of any other idea what to do.

They darted around the corner and flat out ran down the hall, their unshod feet flying noiselessly across the flagstones.  _Stealth purposes. Trust me._  Only her father had always told her that Malfoys could never be trusted, and that she shouldn't get too friendly with this one. There was something significant about that memory, and that she should remember it only now, seven years later, as that very same Malfoy's impromptu accomplice.

Scorpius was grinning, appearing not even the least bit concerned about anything. He kept sending her these fleeting, conspiring looks over his shoulder, the electricity in his eyes making it unfairly hard to keep her knees from buckling just a little. But eventually, the more distance they put between themselves and Ms. Bleaker, the more Rose found herself grinning back, laughing even. She was Head Girl, for Merlin's sake! And he was a prefect! What on Earth were they even  _doing?_

The walls blurred for a time. They passed through shadows and bars of moonlight, under the sleepy and disapproving gazes of portraits, and very nearly ran into Peeves, whose snores alerted them to his presence just in time (he was sleep-floating). Seconds grew into minutes. Minutes grew into something oddly timeless, cut off from reality, as if they could do this forever – run laughing through the halls, fearless in the dark, strangers hand in hand.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Rose felt a jolt of recognition as she clued into their surroundings.

"Wait," she blurted, dragging him to an ungraceful halt. "Wait, this is it. This is my stop."

Chest heaving lightly, he blinked down at her until comprehension sank in. "Oh. Right."

The Head Dormitory was strategically built into an innocuous-looking wall, easily missed by those who did not know where to look. Marked only by an old painting of an Irish setter, currently dozing by a warm yellow fire, it would have been easy for them to dash right on by.

Remembering her hand in his, Rose cleared her throat and smiled up at him. "Well. That was . . ."

"Bracing?" he supplied with a crooked smile. She couldn’t not be aware that he wasn’t letting go.

"Bracing," she repeated, taking vivid note of his windblown hair and the rapid pulse beating in his jugular. "Yes, that'll do."

"You kept up nicely." Maybe he was waiting for her to let go of his hand first.

She didn’t. "Right, well, hormones, and all that."

He bit the inside of his cheek.

Rose mentally quailed. "Adrenaline," she amended weakly. "Is . . . that’s what I meant by hormones. You know, fear of getting caught, and, and . . ."

"Of course." He was staring at her lips again. "I'm sure there were no other hormones involved."

"I . . ."

A door slammed nearby, and Rose remembered with a sickening bolt of clarity that Professor Finnegan often worked late on Saturday nights. Marking homework.

In his office.

Located a mere twenty paces from the Head Dorm, where the two of them happened to be standing in plain sight.

Scorpius' head jerked instinctively in the direction of the noise, looking stunned for the first time. Rose, in a shocking twist, grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the shadow of a nearby staircase. He obeyed with a mindless sort of acceptance, letting her shove him into the wall in a way that could have been much gentler. Then, remembering himself, he rolled them over so that he was between her and Finnegan’s office, thinking even now to shield her with his body. Her insides positively hummed as he brought his arms up to pin her close to his chest.

The click-clack of Finnegan's shoes approached, getting louder every second. All he had to do was turn and look to his right, and he would have spotted one large, amorphous shadow huddled in the corner by the stairs. Rose screwed her eyes shut and buried her face in the curve between Scorpius' neck and shoulder, not even daring to breathe. Scorpius responded by tightening his grip on her and pressing his nose into her hair.

But it was late, and the man was tired, and he breezed on by without even a cursory glance in their direction.

It only took a few seconds for him to pass in and out of sight, but the Head Girl and prefect did not dare move until they could no longer hear shoes striking stone.

Slowly, Scorpius loosened his hold on her, just enough so that Roses could look up into his eyes. He was breathing shallowly now, and she could actually feel his heart _pounding_  in his ribcage beneath her hands. The warmth, the closeness of him, the sheer lack of anything between them, raised chills all over her, and she realized with a sinking dread that she couldn't look away. She literally couldn't. And he was staring right back down at her, into her, mouth hanging open as if waiting for the rights words to fall out on their own.

"Speechless," she finally breathed, managing a shaky smile. "You're making this too easy, Scorpius."

Something flared up in his eyes, and she didn't see it happen but suddenly he was the one shoving her into the wall and kissing her and she was kissing him back and _Merlin it had never been like this before, not even close._  He bit, sucked, teased, and did something unbearably sexy with his tongue, _where_ _did he learn to do this?_

She went up on her toes for better access, moaning a little when his hand gripped the back of her knee again, this time hoisting it up to hook her leg around his waist. It then slid it back up her thigh and settled on the firm but pliant mound where it met her back, squeezing just hard enough to mean business without leaving bruises. His lips traveled from hers to find purchase along her jaw, down her neck, to the base of her throat, up the other side, and back to her mouth, seemingly all in one fluid motion.

Rose writhed like she was on fire, grinding insistently against the sudden, not unwelcome hardness she found there, signaling _more_. She was possessed, undone, floating somewhere outside her own body but inescapably aware of every touch, every breath warming her skin. Nothing and nobody had ever been like this, not with her, not ever. She had always thought cousin Lily was making it up, or exaggerating whenever she went on about this boy or that. Or worse, she thought maybe _she_ was the problem, dysfunctional somehow, not a real girl because she just didn’t see what all the fuss was about. It was nice with boys, yes, and she had enjoyed herself with them before, yes, but this . . . _this . . ._

Scorpius growled, a strangled, urgent sound against her lips that made her seize up with power, and all at once she understood it. She understood bad teen romance.

His other hand came up her front and tread close, _so close_ to her breast, almost cupping it, but some lingering thread of politeness tethered him in check. She could have laughed at it, the idea that _that_ was where he drew the line, of all things.

Instead she gripped his hand, pointedly moving it up for him, knowing she would be waiting all night for him to cross it otherwise. She might be a little new to all this, but she wasn’t a bloody nun. He did as commanded, and through the soft padding of her bra, she felt his thumb trace over her hardened nipple before kneading expert circles around it. A shudder passed through her, almost a spasm, and a half-whimper-half-sob escaped before she could smother it.

Scorpius brought his mouth down to her collarbone, lightly dragging his teeth over it. “Admit it,” he breathed, hot and low and heavy, “you’re starting to like me.”

Rose tried to laugh, but couldn’t summon more than an airy flutter. “You’re one to talk,” she pointed out, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the hard stone of the wall.

She felt him smirk into her breastbone before kissing his way back up to her lips. “If we plan on stopping,” he murmured, “let me know before I fucking _lose it_. ”

“I – ” Rose faltered, feeling his fingers sliding up under her jumper. Her skin was hot, unbearably hot under his cool touch, and the contrast was enough to jar her back into some semblance of reality. For Merlin’s sake, he had her up against a wall, one leg around his waist and the other thigh rubbing against his stiff bulge, but until tonight they had barely so much as _looked_ at each other and _Oh God what am I doing, this isn’t me, I don’t DO things like this, someone is going to catch us, what if my family finds out, Dad will never speak to me again_ \- 

She realized, belatedly, that she was in the midst of rambling. “I, I don’t know, I’ve never – I’m not – I haven’t –”

“It’s all right,” Scorpius hastened, withdrawing his hand and placing it back outside her jumper. He palmed her breast over the material, lightly this time, almost like an assurance. Or an apology. Or both. He bent his head lower, nuzzling into her neck, breathing in deep to steady himself. “We’ll stop. Just say when.”

Rose blinked unseeingly. That was . . . unexpected of him. Scorpius had a reputation with girls – namely that he had been with quite a few of them – and on some level she must have assumed that he would have a major sense of entitlement here. Without even realizing it, she had been expecting impatience, pushiness even, culminating in that awkward inevitable need to break away and send him packing, anger and confusion marring what had, until then, been a beautiful night. Part of her wouldn’t have even blamed him, exactly, given their frenzy only moments ago. But it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to douse cold water on an overly eager boy (literally and figuratively), and deep down she had been dreading having to do it again.

Yet there he was, calmer now and slowing himself down, no bitterness of irritation to be found, just . . . acceptance. Gentleness, even, now that he knew her boundary was within sight.

Finding strength for the first time in what felt like hours, Rose knotted her fingers in his hair, forcing him back up to meet her eyes – showing him the desire there, letting him know neither of them had been imagining it – before kissing him hard. Slowly. Deliberately.

It was different now, the air between them. Now there was more than adolescent adrenaline fueling the fire. Something entirely new had been ignited, something bigger and more solid, almost as tangible as his tongue in her mouth.

He was more skilful than before, more teasing than exploratory. She had no choice but to reciprocate, and then on impulse she planted a sharp little bite on his lower lip. The sound he made in reply thrilled her all the way down to her knees, and before she knew it, she was lifted clear off the ground. He yanked her other leg to join the one wrapped around his waist, pinning her in place against the wall. His hands were on her ass again, gripping and massaging none-too gently. The surprise of it was exciting, not to mention the boldness, and it felt good having his hands there and his solid bulk between her thighs, so _good_. But not quite right, not quite dead centre, not until she –

“Wait, wait,” she grunted, reaching a hand down between them.

True to his word, Scorpius stuttered to a halt, uncertain but alert. His eyes followed the descent like a cat ready to pounce, widening a little once he realized what she was doing.

Her fingers were shaking so bad, she could barely manage. He had to help her with the button, before unzipping her jeans himself and adjusting his hold on her so she could shimmy them down a little. There was no time to kick them all the way off, not without climbing down from her perch, and she had zero interest in moving from that spot.

In retrospect, she privately thanked God she had picked out decent panties today. Nothing particularly sexy – basic, light pink cotton – but cute enough, in her mind, to be of interest.

Apparently Scorpius agreed. He smirked at them, noting the wet patch he had created, before her next words sobered him up considerably.

“Your turn,” Rose smirked back, before promptly pushing down on the waistband of his sweatpants until his thin boxer briefs emerged, unsurprisingly black. She swallowed, doing her best not to gape at his prominent erection straining at the seams, suddenly feeling entirely too clumsy and inexperienced for this.

But then Scorpius pulled her in close again, resuming their earlier position, now with fewer barriers when her legs locked around his hips like a vice. Her muscles trembled with the effort of hanging on, pulling him closer, their pelvises realigning so exquisitely that the new contact pulled a startled cry out of her. She muted it against his shoulder, screwing her eyes shut, feeling him _right down there_ with every thrust and grind, rubbing his length up and down right on that magical spot previously known only to herself.

“Fuuuuck,” Scorpius rasped, before stealing another forceful kiss. He bit her this time, sending a lightening bolt of pleasure right down to her core. “You’re killing me with this, Rose . . .”

The heat between them had exploded and died down for a moment, but now a slow burn was building, gaining speed and momentum once more. It was leading to something dangerous, something unstoppable, the pressure of it gathering between her legs like an oncoming freight train.

“Oh God,” Rose panted, almost forgetting to keep her voice down, because how, _how_ could be so good he wasn’t even properly inside her? “Oh God ohGodJesusChristMerlin _Scorpius_ –”

He only grunted bestially in reply, punctuating every buck in his hips, breathing into her shoulder like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

She dug her nails into his back, almost cutting through the fabric of his undershirt, her own hips moving rhythmically against his. Nobody had ever taught her how, but she was moving them now like she had been born knowing every move to make.

At this point, an entire parade could pass by them in their shady little corner and Rose doubted she’d even notice, let alone care, just so long as he didn’t stop.

“You’re close,” Scorpius groaned into her ear, so hoarse she could barely make out his words. “I can feel you, I  . . . I’m  . . .”

 _I’m nearly there_ , he was trying to say, only he didn’t have to. Rose could feel him too, his own pressure amassing against her, hot and full and ready to burst. Hers was steamrolling its way now, pulsing relentlessly, concentrating every wave down into that one spot until . . . until . . .

“Yes,” she gasped, “yes, yes, there, right there, _oh GOD_ –”

He shuddered violently against her at the precise moment she came, stars exploding in her vision like some cosmic event. The pressure exploded between her legs, fanning out through her legs, her abdomen, even the base of her spine. It faded slowly, the fog clearing from her head just enough so that she could see the beautiful agony still scrawled on Scorpius’ face before he buried himself in her neck. Gasping, groaning, back arching in painful ecstasy, he held them together until he was utterly spent.

Then slowly, haltingly, he lowered her back down on her feet. She almost couldn’t stand yet, not on her own. He had to hold her a little, just with his arms this time, but even he was having trouble staying up and she let him lean against her as well. Their foreheads touched, matching pulses cooling in the aftermath, and for untold seconds – maybe even minutes – all they could do was breathe together.

 Rose had closed her eyes without realizing it, and opened them now to find Scorpius already peering right back at her through a fading fog of his own. She was afraid, all at once, of what this mutual awareness would bring, now that the danger and the romance and the rush had passed. What was left? They were strangers. Their parents fought on opposite sides of the war. So much damage had been done, laid the groundwork beneath their feet long before either of them were born, but now . . . now?

Scorpius smiled then, unexpectedly. It was a small smile, careful and every bit as unsure as she felt, but honest.

She smiled back, shaky with sudden relief. She even giggled a little when he reached down to right her jeans, zipping them up and buttoning them closed with surprising care and dignity.

“What a gentleman,” she fawned, splaying her hands admiringly across his chest.

“Least I could do,” he winked, pulling up his sweatpants before looping an idle finger through one of her belt loops and drawing her closer. “It’s the little things that count, right?”

“Ahem!” a high-pitched voice called, somewhere down the hallway.

Both heads turned sharply, otherwise freezing in place, but Rose instantly slumped with recognition. It was just the portrait of Tillingus Walbusey the Fourth, clearing his throat as loudly as possible.

“If you’re _quite_ through, children, I believe it is well past your curfew,” he shrilly reminded them.

Sighing, Scorpius looked back down to her with another, more lopsided smile. “Well. If that’s not a mood killer, I don’t know what is.”

Rose giggled again, still feeling a bit lightheaded. “Don’t worry, he’s not a snitch. Our secret is safe.”

She hesitated, biting her lip a second – unconsciously mirroring what he had done not too long ago – before going up on her toes once more for a kiss. He met her willingly, even slipping his tongue across hers without her even realizing she had allowed him in before she forced herself to gently disentangle.

"I, ah . . . bed," she mumbled, trying in vain not to look back down at his unmistakably flushed and bruised lips.

"Yeah," he murmured back, leaning after her almost drunkenly. "Good idea." There was still something in his eyes, a feverish gleam that she felt sure was positively eating her alive on the spot.

She took a step away from him and smiled at the disheveled, thoroughly kissed mess he looked. Ambling backwards with her hand on the wall, she kept her gaze locked with his until she felt the portrait frame under her fingers.

" _Tentatio_ ," she whispered, earning a sleepy 'woof' from the Irish setter. The painting swung open, revealing a circular entrance.

"Temptation," he translated. His eyes roamed her lines and curves with much keener intimacy. "How fitting."

Pausing in the doorway, she cast him a perfectly wanton smile over her shoulder, inwardly thrilling at the one he gave back. "Better not let me catch you sneaking around late at night again."

His grin widened. "Not even at the bust of Hermietta the Uncouth, say, around midnight tomorrow?"

She tapped her chin innocently. "Hmmm, no, I don't suppose I'll see you there at all."

"Nor I you."

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

They exchanged final lingering looks before the portrait slid back into place, effectively ending the evening. Even if it never went anywhere – even if she didn't find him at the statue tomorrow – if nothing else, at least she'd remember that once, late at night, the two of them had run hand-in-hand through the castle and kissed in the dark. Among other things. That in itself was permanent. It could never, ever go away or disappear.

The next morning, Rose stepped dreamily out into the hallway and found her books piled neatly outside the door, along with only one of her shoes. As her cheeks flushed with recognition, she nevertheless frowned at the absence of her other trainer. It wasn't like him to do anything only halfway, after all. She knew that about him, not to mention a few other things that made her feel incredibly womanly and grown up.

Stooping to examine the parchment note that had arrived with her belongings, she scanned his impeccable handwriting:

_Just a little insurance. See you tonight. – SM_

Biting her lip to keep from grinning too widely, Rose clasped the paper to her chest and reveled a small, fleeting rush of adrenaline.

 

 


End file.
